Hiding and Seeking
by tutncleo
Summary: Sometimes it takes a scare to admit to what you've been hiding. After Tony is almost killed in an operation gone bad, he and Gibbs are forced to admit how they feel about each other. Pre-slash


Hiding and Seeking

_A/N: After having watched the latest episode of NCIS, I decided there was no way to argue that a Gibbs/DiNozzo pairing was more than plausible. The familiarity between Gibbs and Tony at the end of the show was moving and concrete. This story is intended to explore how that relationship might have begun, and is set at the very end of season one, or the beginning of season two – back when Kate was still alive and Tony was not as secure in his position as senior agent as he is now. As per my usual, it is a 'first time' story, with a side helping of Tony whump._

Tony crouched down behind two dilapidated old trashcans, and pulled them closer together; creating a rusty barrier between himself and the alley the cans were situated in. The smell emanating from the cans, putrid and pervasive, threatened to bowl him over, and he had to fight to keep from gagging. The pounding in his ears, a combination of fear, exhaustion, and adrenaline, made it difficult for him to hear if his pursuers had gotten to the alley yet, but he was hesitant to peek out from around his newly found hiding place for a look. He'd been running for several blocks, slowly widening the gap between himself and the men who were chasing him, but he wasn't foolish enough to gamble on having completely lost them. Working to steady his breathing, he reached down and pushed his right pant leg up until he could reach the ankle holster he had secured to his leg. Without even looking, he unhooked the strap that held his gun in place. He then brought his right arm up, even with his chest, his service revolver clenched in his hand, ready to shoot should the need arise. There would be no backup coming. He'd had his cell phone out; preparing to call Gibbs to let him know his cover had been blown, when Bruiser #1 and Bruiser #2 had found him standing outside the back of the bar he'd been casing. In the ensuing scuffle, the cell phone had been dropped, and Tony had barely gotten away. He'd been running ever since.

This was never supposed to have happened. It shouldn't have been dangerous - just a watch, listen and learn assignment; that was why there hadn't been any back up. NCIS had gotten a tip that a sailor they'd been looking for, James Bloom, was known to hang out a bar called Chaps, down on DuPont Circle, and Tony had been assigned the dubious honor of cruising the bar for several days. They had hoped that by becoming a familiar face, Tony would be able to get a lead on where to find Bloom, who had gone AWOL after having been questioned about his part in a child prostitution ring. An underground child pornography site had popped up on the internet, advertising the services of children from several third world countries. There were rumors floating around that the minors were being kidnapped from their homelands and then smuggled into the country by corrupt American sailors, and one ship - the USS Underwood - was mentioned on more than one occasion. Three weeks ago, every sailor on the Underwood had been questioned, and they all had claimed to have no knowledge of any human trafficking. James Bloom, however, had gone on shore leave the next day, and had not been seen again. NCIS had been hunting for him every since.

Usually Tony would have jumped with joy over an assignment that required him to spend night after night hanging out in a bar. Unfortunately, the bar in question was Chaps, a fairly new upscale gay dance club. Not that Tony had anything against gay dance clubs - far from it. Tony loved gay dance clubs. As a matter of fact, he had wanted to check out Chaps ever since it opened, but every time he had planned on going to investigate the new bar, work had gotten in the way. It would be difficult to go as himself now, since he'd just spent five days getting to know everyone in the club, all the while passing himself off as Tony Moreno. McGee and Kate had smirked when Gibbs had given him the assignment, wrongly interpreting the flash of irritation he'd been unable to suppress, as homophobia. Only Abby had know that was hardly the case. The smirks had blossomed into out and out laughter when Tony had shown up the first night, dressed in skin tight black jeans, sleek black boots, a Nehru collared short dark grey jacket, and a snug emerald green silk t-shirt, with just a hint of eyeliner smudged around his eyes. Amidst cat calls from his partners over his chances for getting lucky that night, and yet more teasing about the whole Voss mess, Gibbs had remained stone faced and silent. Tony hadn't really known what to make of that, although he had been pleased when he caught Gibbs giving him a careful once-over, when he thought no one was looking. Tony would have been more than happy to never set foot in another gay bar again if he could only have the one person he had truly wanted for the last two years– Gibbs; but since he didn't think that was likely to happen in this lifetime, he resented having one of the hotter clubs in D.C. made off limits to him in his spare time, all because of an undercover assignment.

And now, here he was, stuck hiding behind two cans filled with who knows what that was slowly oozing towards him from the trash bins' rusted out bottoms, his favorite Michael Toschi boots completely trashed, wondering how in the hell this had happened. Tony was the very best undercover agent NCIS had in D.C. No one would dispute that - not even Tony, on his most self-deprecating of days. Tony loved to wear a mask, and there was absolutely no one who could see through it, not if he was really trying. Innumerable years of practice had ensured that. He was certain he had done nothing to give himself away. Hell, he's spent the first three days just hanging out, getting to know people. He hadn't even mentioned Bloom's name until last night, and that was only to tell the bartender that he was glad one of his friends had heard about this place from another buddy, some sailor named Bloom. Yet, two hours into being at the club that night, Tony had spotted two dangerous looking heavies, both of whom were watching him like a hawk. He'd excused himself from his dance partner - an older grey haired man who was a poor substitute for Gibbs, claiming he needed to go to the bathroom, and had snuck out the back door. He'd been getting ready to call Gibbs, to let him know that the gig was a bust, when Bruiser #1 had slammed his heavily booted right foot into Tony's stomach. Things had gone downhill fast from there, and after finally managing to punch Bruiser #2 hard enough in the face to knock him into his buddy, Tony had taken the opportunity to hotfoot it away. The two thugs had chased him, but Tony's years of running had paid off, and he'd been able to put some distance between himself and his assailants.

All of Tony's senses heightened when he heard the unmistakable crunch of glass being stepped on, coming from the alley, no more than fifty feet away from where he was hunkered down. He'd hoped he had enough of a lead on the two men so that they wouldn't be able to see him cut into the alley, but obviously that wasn't the case. Then he could hear trash cans and boxes being shoved out of the way. They were looking for him. The alley was filled with litter, but it was only a matter of time before they got to where he was. There was very little room between where he sat, leaning against a building, and the cans that hid him from sight, but he positioned his gun as best he could, aiming up in the direction he knew they men would be when they finally got to him. The element of surprise would be on his side, and he silently prayed that they weren't armed with guns, although he didn't think he would be that lucky. He would have to shoot the instant he saw them, and hope for the best.

By now he could hear them talking. "Are you sure that bastard cut down this alley? I don't want to be the one to tell Chapman that we let him get away," one of the men said to the other, his low gravelly voice spoke of too many cigarettes and too much whiskey.

"Yeah, he's here somewhere. Who the hell is he, anyway?" the other man answered.

"I don't know, didn't bother to ask. Chapman said he was some kind of Fed. He said he didn't think he knew anything, but to make sure he couldn't talk, just in case."

"Fucking prick. I'd shoot his ass anyway, just for making me chase him all this way." So much for them being unarmed Tony thought.

They were getting closer. Tony could tell they were almost to him. He tensed, making himself ready. Then, suddenly, the can in front of him made a scrapping noise as it began to move. Leaping to his feet, Tony began to fire his gun the instant he saw a shape. He heard a grunt and knew he'd found his target. He didn't take the time to see if the man was down for good; that could come later. Instead, he swung his arm and aimed for the second man. He had just pulled the trigger when he felt something impact against his shoulder, and before he could even process what was happening, he was propelled backwards against the wall. Tony watched the other man drop to the ground beside his fallen partner, as he, himself, began to slide down the side of the building. His last coherent thoughts were, 'I hope to hell they stay down,' followed closely by, 'Gibbs is gonna kill me.'

* * *

Tony was slow to regain consciousness, and the ache in his head discouraged him from opening his eyes. The stench from the decaying garbage was gone, only to be replaced by something almost as noxious -the smell of blood, body odor, stale food, industrial cleaners, and antiseptics. He was in a hospital. He didn't even need to hear the hissing of the oxygen machine, or the beeping of the heart monitor, to tell him that. Not only was he in a hospital, but he'd most likely had surgery. And if he'd had surgery, that meant someone had to have signed the consent forms, which meant Gibbs would be close at hand. Steeling himself, he took another whiff, searching for the telltale aroma of coffee. It was hard to pick it up, since it was mixing with the oxygen being pumped into him from the nasal cannula, but it was there, combined with something he'd yet to define, a smell unique to Gibbs.

"Tony?"

'How did Gibbs do that?' Tony wondered. 'How could he tell I was awake?'

"Tony, can you hear me?" Gibbs asked again.

"Hospital?" Tony asked, his eyes still closed. He didn't really need the answer to that question, he already knew. It was really just a way to buy himself a bit more time, while he prepared himself for the debilitating pain he knew the light would send through his already aching head.

"Yup. You caught a bullet in your left shoulder and cracked your head pretty hard. They had to go in to dig the bullet out, and you've got a concussion and a really nasty cut," Gibbs filled him in. "No permanent damage. Doctors said the shoulder should heal just fine. Figure we won't even notice one more bang to your head."

"Har, har, har. You're supposed to be nice to the wounded, Boss," Tony answered, and waited for the sarcastic response.

When Gibbs didn't answer, Tony gritted his teeth and cracked an eye open. There stood Gibbs next to the bed, a cup of coffee in his hand, staring intently at him, with an expression on his face that Tony couldn't quite identify. Sighing quietly, Tony opened his other eye, too. Light flooded in, and the pain was so great he worried that he'd be sick. Once the ache had subsided somewhat, he studied his boss. Gibbs looked tired- no, he looked past tired, Tony thought. There was no doubt he was exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes gave testimony to that, but that didn't explain the tension Tony saw pulling at his eyes and mouth. "Boss?" Tony asked tentatively. That seemed to free Gibbs from wherever his head had been.

Gibbs blinked at Tony, straightened his slumped shoulders and then said, "When you feel up to it, I need to debrief you," his voice businesslike and clipped. Apparently he had no intention of sharing whatever he'd been thinking about.

"We can go over it now," Tony answered him. "There isn't really all that much to tell. I don't know what went wrong. I was just mingling, like I'd done for the past four nights. I hadn't done anything different. A couple of hours into the night I realized I was being watched by two thugs. I slipped out the back to call you and give you a heads up. I'd just started to call when they came after me. We fought, and I got away. I didn't have much choice but to run, since I knew I wouldn't have a big enough head start to get to my car in time. I ran for a few blocks, putting a little more distance between us with each block, and finally thought I was enough ahead that I could slip into an alley to hide."

Tony paused there. Everything up until that point had been fine, but this was where he'd made his mistake. He'd misjudged his lead, and because of that he was in the hospital, Gibbs was down an agent, and quite possibly, their only two leads were dead.

"Go on," Gibbs urged.

"It was really dark in the alley," Tony started, remembering what had happened. "The buildings blocked off any illumination from the lights on the main street. There were piles of trash everywhere, boxes, papers, old cardboard boxes. I went about three quarters of the way down and then ducked behind two huge trashcans that were sitting along the side. I was hoping that if I was wrong, and they were close enough to see me head into the alley, they'd think I'd cut through to the next block. Obviously, I fucked up," and he paused again, waiting for Gibbs to give his standard, "Ya think, DiNozzo?"

When his pronouncement met with only silence, he continued. "I'd just gotten my gun out of my ankle holster when I heard them start down the alley. They were talking while they looked behind dumpsters and trash. I was pretty much trapped. One of them said he was going to shoot me, so I knew I wouldn't have to worry about hesitating to see if they were armed. When they got to where I was, I stood up and started firing. I know I got both of them, but I wasn't sure how badly. One of them got me, too, but since I'm still here to talk about it, I assume that means I downed them both." At this point he looked to Gibbs for confirmation.

"Yeah, you got 'em both," Gibbs agreed. "Jack Ramsey and Nicky Girardi. Girardi's dead; you got him right between the eyes. Ramsey took one in the shoulder, just like you, and he's going to be okay. I'm gonna make sure he knows that shooting a federal agent's a bad thing. When I'm done, I'm going to know everything he knows." There was a fierceness to that pronouncement, and Tony was glad he wasn't Ramsey, although he couldn't work up any sympathy for the man. After all, the bastard had intended to kill him.

"I'm sorry, Boss. I don't know how they tumbled to me," Tony started.

"What have I told you about apologies?" Gibbs interrupted him. "Besides, we don't know what happened. I doubt if you made a mistake. I'll get Ramsey to tell me why they went after you. Right now, you just need to concentrate on getting better."

"When did the doctor say I could leave?" Tony asked Gibbs.

"He said the surgery went well, and he just wants to keep you long enough to get some antibiotics in your system and make sure everything starts to heal alright. Plus, he wants to make sure there aren't any side effects from the concussion," Gibbs told him.

"Those the antibiotics?" Tony asked, pointing to an IV stand next to the bed with an almost finished bag of medicine attached to it.

"Yep," Gibbs answered.

Just then a tall, thin, dark haired young doctor came bustling into the room. "Agent DiNozzo. Welcome back to the land of the living," the man said to him. "I'm Dr. Pavel. I'm the one who got the bullet out of your shoulder. I assume Agent Gibbs has brought you up to speed?" he asked, as he reached for the chart that was dangling from the end of Tony's hospital bed, and began flipping through the notes.

"He did," Tony told him. "He said the shoulder was going to be fine, no permanent damage, and that I just had a concussion."

"He was right," Dr. Pavel told him. "You got incredibly lucky. The bullet managed to miss all the major arteries, nerves, and bone. You may need a little physical therapy, we'll have to see."

"Gibbs said you had me on intravenous antibiotics," Tony said.

"Yes. We've almost got a full bag of high powered ones in you now. When that bag's finished, we'll move you onto orals."

"So once that bag is empty, there really isn't any reason for me to stay here. I can recoup in my own bed just as well," Tony announced, as if that were the end of the discussion.

"Let's not be hasty," Dr. Pavel said in alarm. "You also have a major concussion. We need to keep you for a couple of days, just to make sure there aren't any side effects that need to be dealt with."

"I've had concussions before, Doc. I know the drill. If I start feeling something I shouldn't, I'll be sure to come…"

"Agent DiNozzo will spend the night," Gibbs interrupted, glaring at Tony as he spoke. When he saw Tony's mouth snap closed, he looked at the doctor. "If everything seems to check out in the morning, is there any reason why he couldn't be released?"

"Well, we will still want to monitor the concussion, and make sure we got the antibiotics in him in time to stop any infection," Dr. Pavel started.

"What if there was someone with him at all times, doing concussion checks and changing the dressings on his shoulder and head?" Gibbs asked. "You wouldn't need him in here, then, would you?"

"Well, I suppose not, but …" Dr. Pavel began. He didn't get any further.

"Good. It's settled then," Gibbs told the doctor. Turning away from the stunned man, he looked at Tony. "Get some more sleep, DiNozzo. I'll be back in the morning to pick you up." With that, Gibbs leaned over, picked his coat up off of the chair next to the bed, and headed for the door. "Don't give 'em any trouble, or I'll make you spend another day in here," he threatened Tony. Then he was gone.

"Right," Dr. Pavel said, watching Gibbs' departing back. He then turned back to Tony. Clearing his throat, he tried to regain some semblance of authority by giving Tony an extensive list of instructions regarding the care of his wounds and the concussion symptoms he should be on the alert for. Tony didn't bother to listen.

* * *

Tony didn't get much quality sleep that night. Nurses were constantly coming in and waking him up, sometimes to give him medicine, other times to monitor his vitals, but always to visit. He wasn't fooled. Tony had suffered from enough concussions over the years to know what they were up to. This was just the hospital's sneaky way of checking for ill effects from the head injury, designed so as not to alarm the patient. If Tony had been feeling better, he'd have been amused. As it was, his head felt like someone was attacking it with a sledge hammer and he was trying hard to fight down a bout of nausea, information he refrained from sharing with the hospital staff for fear they wouldn't agree to release him in tomorrow.

Finally, however, it was morning, and Tony woke up to an unpleasant fact. He felt terrible. The pain medications and the anesthesia from the night before had worn off, and he ached all over. His headache had ebbed somewhat, and his stomach no longer threatened to mutiny, but every muscle in his body seemed to be screaming in outrage, and he knew that when he finally got a look at his body he would be covered in bruises. None of that was going to stop him, however. Tony hated hospitals, and he was in a huge hurry to leave. By the time Gibbs arrived at ten o'clock, carrying a large paper bag, Tony had begun to get antsy. The doctor had already been there, and, with much grumbling, had signed Tony's release papers, after securing Tony's promise that he wouldn't be alone for the next forty-eight hours. Tony was sitting on the bed, his left arm in a sling, wearing a pair of scrubs and slippers he'd managed to snag from one of the nurses, since his own clothing had been taken into evidence.

"What's in the bag?" Tony asked Gibbs.

"A sweatshirt and pants, plus an old jacket, although it looks like you've already found something to wear," Gibbs said, nodding at the scrubs Tony was sporting.

"Just took a little of the old DiNozzo charm," Tony told him with a grin. "Although usually I use it to remove clothes, rather than to get them."

Gibbs cocked his right eyebrow over his steely blue eye, but didn't comment, although Tony did see Gibbs' hand twitch and was sure it would have connected with the back of his head, had he not been suffering from a concussion.

"What took you so long, Boss?" Tony asked, feeling the need to change the subject. Gibbs had not seemed happy to hear that Tony had flirted his way into the set of scrubs.

"Had to finish interrogating Ramsey," Gibbs told him, while reaching into the bag to drag out an old denim jacket.

"And?" Tony probed.

"I'll tell you in the car," Gibbs said. "You all checked out?"

"Yep, was just waiting for you." There was that slight tightening around Gibbs' eyes Tony noticed, as he sat looking studying Gibbs' face. 'God, I wish I knew what he was thinking,' Tony thought silently to himself.

"Good enough. Let's go then." Gibbs said, breaking the moment. He tossed the jacket to Tony, who caught it with his right hand. "I'll ring for a nurse while you put that on."

There had been a bit of an argument when the nurse insisted that Tony be pushed out to Gibbs' car in a wheelchair and Tony had insisted that he was just fine to walk, but in the end Gibbs had interceded and, after getting a ride out to the car, Tony found himself in Gibbs' car, heading away from the hospital.

"We'll stop at the pharmacy on the way," Gibbs told him as he navigated his car onto the by-pass.

"Um, where are we headed?" Tony asked, since his apartment was in the opposite direction.

"My house," was all Gibbs said.

"Um, that's not really necessary, Gibbs," Tony objected. "I'll be just fine at my place." The last thing he wanted was to be alone with Gibbs when he wasn't feeling one hundred percent. It was hard enough to hide his desire when he felt fine, he didn't think he had the energy to deal with it when he was feeling so weak.

"Told the doctor you wouldn't be alone," Gibbs grunted, "but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend the next two days in that hellhole you call an apartment."

"Two days?" Tony squeaked. No way did he want to spend two days alone with Gibbs.

"Something wrong with your hearing, too, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked. "You heard the doctor."

"They always say that. It doesn't really mean anything," Tony tried to reason with him. "We've already established that this isn't my first concussion."

"Shut up, Tony," Gibbs scowled. Tony let out an exasperated sigh, but stopped arguing, knowing there was no point.

They drove a few miles without saying anything, until the silence began to make Tony crazy. "You said you'd tell me about Ramsey," he finally said.

"He was real willing to talk." Gibbs' smirk told Tony exactly what that interrogation had been like. "He and Girardi were really just hired muscle. They worked for some guy called Chapman. That's who sicced them on you. They didn't even know why, and didn't bother to ask. Ramsey gave us Chapman's contact info. The director gave Branson's team the lead on this since you're involved, and they're working on rounding him up right now. Kate's working with them. They'll call me when they have him." Again Gibbs' face told Tony everything he needed to know. Gibbs wasn't happy about this turn of events, and Tony was sure he and the director had exchanged words.

"Did he know anything about the prostitution ring?" Tony asked.

"Not much. He knew Chapman was running one, and he'd seen the kids, but he wasn't really involved with that part of it. Seems Chapman's a real nasty piece of work. He's into drugs, gun running and prostitution. Ramsey and Girardi were more involved in the drug end of things, but he was able to tell us where Chapman worked out of. Doubt if there'll be anyone left there when Branson's team shows up, but we'll see."

"What about Bloom?" Tony wanted to know.

"Ramsey confirmed that Chapman had some kind of deal with a couple of sailors, but he didn't know much more. Again, we need to get our hands on Chapman." Tony could hear the frustration in Gibbs' voice and decided to let the subject drop for the time being.

"How'd you find me?" he asked, to change the subject. Apparently that wasn't the right thing to ask, because, against all odds, Gibbs seemed to become even tenser.

"Abby," Gibbs said. Tony was still trying to puzzle that answer out when Gibbs let out an audible sigh and continued. "Sometimes I think she really is a Voodoo priestess."

"Huh?" Tony said, not following Gibbs at all.

"She told me she had a premonition that something bad was going to happen and so she had been monitoring the police lines. When she heard something about shots being fired in the neighborhood around the club, she tried calling your cell. When she couldn't get an answer, she called me. I promised her I'd head to the club to check on you. I was almost there when the local LEOs got on the scene and found your ID and called headquarters with your location. I arrived just as they were loading you into the ambulance." Gibbs fell silent. For just an instant Tony thought he saw something on his face that looked like fear, then Gibbs carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression.

"Where is Abby?" Tony asked, thinking that might be safer.

"At Headquarters, pissed at me," Gibbs told him, his face relaxing just a little. "She wanted to come with me this morning, but I insisted she stay there so she'd be ready to process anything Branson's team found. Actually, I just thought you could use a day or so before you had to deal with her." This time Gibbs actually smirked a little. "You're going to have to call her later or she'll show up on my doorstep before the day is out."

"Thanks, Boss," and Tony really meant it. He loved Abby like the sister he'd never had, but he just wasn't up to dealing with her right now. Abby expressed her love and concern loudly, and with aggressive physical displays, and his throbbing head and aching body just couldn't handle that at the moment.

"You owe me," Gibbs told him.

"Already did," Tony let slip out, wishing he could grab back his words before they'd even cleared his mouth. Gibbs' eyes widened a bit, but he mercifully let that statement slide by.

Neither man said anything again for several minutes. Tony sat in the passenger seat, silently upbraiding himself. 'Already did – what a stupid-assed thing to say,' he chided himself. Not that Tony hadn't meant it – he had just never intended to share that sentiment with Gibbs.

When Gibbs had plucked him away from the Baltimore P.D., Tony had been just months away from moving on himself. He'd been so hopeful when he'd transferred to Baltimore, sure he'd finally found a place for himself, a boss he could really respect, somewhere to fit in. That hadn't lasted long, however. His captain turned out to be more of a politician than a dedicated law enforcer, and the majority of detectives in his precinct were jaded and lazy. Tony had actually even been considering giving up policing, maybe going back to get a law degree, when Gibbs had stomped into his life. One week of working with Gibbs had convinced him that there were people out there who cared more about justice than job security. When Gibbs had asked him if he would consider applying to NCIS, Tony had jumped at the offer.

Tony owed him for more than just that, though. Gibbs had spent the last two years building his self confidence. He'd done that in true Gibbsian fashion – not by lavishing praise on Tony, but by constantly pushing Tony, by never letting Tony quit or admit defeat. Gibbs had demanded nothing but the best from him, and slowly but surely, Tony had learned to rise to the challenge. It had been rocky at the beginning, but he had kept after him. Tony had flourished; he knew that. He was a far superior investigator now, with analytical skills he had not once possessed, and a gut that, while not a rival to Gibbs', was right far more often than it was wrong.

And perhaps best of all, Gibbs had never demanded that Tony change his personality. He let Tony joke and carry on, only reining him in when Gibbs felt it was threatening to get out of control. He'd even encouraged him at times, let Tony joke his way through interviews and interrogations, and never seemed surprised when Tony's antics yielded answers every bit as often as his more confrontational style. Tony had always been suspicious that Gibbs understood how important the façade of class clown was to him, that he got how Tony used it to hide his true emotions. Not that they ever discussed that, of course. Their relationship seemed to be based as solidly on what they didn't say to each other, as what they did. But despite the lack of heart to heart conversations, Gibbs was the rock that Tony had built his life upon, and for that, Tony felt like he owed him.

* * *

An hour later, Gibbs eased his car into his driveway. They'd stopped to fill the prescription for Tony's antibiotics and had gotten a bagel and coffee from a nearby deli. Tony's belly was now full, and he'd just begun to doze off when Gibbs put the car into park, the fatigue and pain getting the better of him.

"Wake up, DiNozzo," Gibbs called over to him. "I'm not carrying you in. Let's get that medicine in you, and you in bed, then you can go back to sleep."

Tony allowed himself to be steered into the house, his former reluctance to spend the night at Gibbs' replaced by the more overpowering desire to lie down again. Once up in the guest room, he exchanged the stiff set of scrubs for the softer, well worn sweats that Gibbs had procured for him, and sank gratefully into the bed. The sweatshirt he was wearing, and the bedding, smelled like Gibbs, and he buried his nose in the reassuring aroma of the pillow and allowed his eyes to close.

Tony wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep when Gibbs woke him up. "Time to take another pill," Gibbs informed him.

"What time is it?" Tony asked groggily.

"1800" Gibbs answered. "Probably should have gotten you up earlier, but figured the sleep would do you good."

Seven hours, he'd slept seven hours Tony realized, as he struggled to sit up. To his dismay, he discovered that he was even stiffer than he'd been that morning. Glancing to his left, he looked out the window and saw that it was indeed night.

"Here," Gibbs said, extending a glass of water to him. Tony reached out and dutifully took it, and Gibbs then handed him an antibiotic. He stood and watched while Tony swallowed the pill, washing it down with the water. "You hungry?" he asked, once Tony had lowered the glass from his lips.

"Not really," Tony answered truthfully. The queasiness he'd experienced the night before had returned, and food didn't sound very good.

"You need to eat something. Can't take antibiotics on an empty stomach. I made some soup. Do you think you could eat that?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, sure," Tony said, and began to maneuver himself out of the bed.

"Stay there. I'll bring it up to you," Gibbs said gruffly, as he watched Tony's halfhearted attempt to arise.

"I can come down. You've already done enough," Tony objected, not wanting to put Gibbs out any further. Here he was, sleeping in Gibbs' guest room while Gibbs stayed home babysitting him, and now Gibbs was volunteering to wait on him. This wasn't the way their relationship worked, and it was making Tony feel seriously off balance.

"No big deal," Gibbs told him. "I need to eat too, and it's not as if this room is a long way off from the kitchen. Just lie back down and I'll bring up a mug."

Tony sank back into the pillows. The last twenty four hours had been some of the strangest he'd ever experienced. First his cover had been blown, and he had no idea how that had happened, and now he was lying in a bed at Gibbs' house, and Gibbs was being….Tony wasn't sure exactly how to explain how Gibbs was being, but it wasn't the way he was used to. He'd had a lot of fantasies about Gibbs since he'd started at NCIS, but none of them had been like this. In his fantasies, Gibbs had wanted him, desired him, but he'd always been himself - rough, demanding, dominant. This Gibbs – considerate, affable, almost nice – was reserved for the victims of crimes, never for a member of the team. Tony was still trying to work things out when Gibbs reappeared, a large mug of soup in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.

Gibbs set the juice on the bedside table, and handed the mug of soup to Tony, waiting until Tony had a firm grip before he removed his own hand. Tony had to fight down a shiver as Gibbs' fingers slid across his own. Tony brought the mug up to his lips and took a sip. Chicken noodle. Gibbs hadn't put a spoon in the mug, probably realizing it would have been impossible for Tony to hold the mug and use a spoon with only one working arm.

"Thanks," Tony said quietly, not knowing what else to say, and not wanting Gibbs to sense his discomfort.

"Kate called," Gibbs told him. "Looks like it was a bad day for Chapman. He and his crew were just loading up their vans when Branson and his team arrived. They managed to get them all. They even found six kids there. Guess he didn't think we'd get Ramsey to talk quite so soon."

"They get anything out of him?" Tony wanted to know.

"Not yet, but it's only a matter of time. Everyone else they picked up was in a big hurry to rat Chapman out. We've got him on a shitload of charges, including murder."

"Murder?" Tony asked.

"Yep. Apparently he wasn't pleased with Bloom when he panicked and went AWOL. Chapman decided to punish him, permanently. Branson's team has already found the body, and Ducky and Abby are working on it now."

"Did you find out how Chapman knew I was a Fed?" That had really been bothering Tony. He prided himself on his undercover skills, and not knowing if he'd done something wrong had been driving him crazy.

"Yeah, you're gonna love this," Gibbs told him. "Turns out Chapman's head of security is a retired D.C. detective. When he saw you in the security camera he thought you looked familiar, but he couldn't place you. It had been bothering him for days. Finally, day before yesterday he remembered. You'd worked some joint case with his unit back when you were in Baltimore. When he heard you were going by the name Tony Moreno, he figured that was just so no one would know you were gay. But it kept bugging him, so he called up someone he knew in Baltimore and heard you'd transferred to NCIS. Given what had happened to Bloom, Chapman freaked, and that was why he ordered Girardi and Ramsey to take you out."

He waited while Tony digested all that. "It wasn't anything you'd done or not done," Gibbs said, reinforcing Tony's suspicion that his boss was psychic.

Tony immediately felt a weight lift. He took another sip of the soup while he tried to think about how to phrase what he wanted to say to Gibbs. He felt compelled to find some way to thank him, to let him know that he appreciated everything Gibbs had done for him, now and in the past. He just couldn't figure out how to do that. In his own way, Gibbs had been more supportive of Tony than anyone else in his life, including those who should have had his back – his family.

Tony felt like he was balancing on a tightrope. They didn't talk about personal things, but that didn't mean they were oblivious to them. Tony knew Gibbs had registered on every hint he'd ever made about his less than functional family, and he was more than aware of Gibbs' tendency to retreat to his basement and his boat whenever he was bothered by something. When Tony bragged about his romantic conquests, using that to keep anyone from digging too deeply, he sometimes saw a knowing look in Gibbs' eyes, but Gibbs had never challenged him. And Tony certainly had never inquired as to why Gibbs' multiple marriages had failed, although he had more than a few suspicions. Despite all that, Tony was sure Gibbs understood him better than anyone else. There had been too many little moments like the one that had just happened – moments where Gibbs said something that soothed Tony's concerns, without Tony ever having verbalized them, or Gibbs admitting that he was aware of what he was doing. But what would happen if Tony did acknowledge that? Would that change everything? Would Gibbs become uncomfortable? He knew he had to risk it.

"Thank you," Tony finally said, not even bothering to specify what he was thanking Gibbs for. He'd given up on finding some smooth way to address what he was feeling, and so he'd settled for putting it as simply as he could.

Gibbs studied Tony's face for a second, and then a small, knowing half smile appeared on his face. "You're welcome," he said.

They stayed like that, locked in each other's gaze, for what seemed like an eternity to Tony, neither one seemingly willing to break the contact. Tony had no idea what Gibbs was thinking, but it was all he could do to keep from reaching out to Gibbs. If life was like a movie, that would have been the moment when they came together in a passionate embrace, lips greedily seeking lips, erection pressed into erection. But life wasn't a movie, and you didn't always get what you wanted. Tony was the first to look away.

"I think I'm done," Tony said, holding the mug out to Gibbs and looking back up at him.

The smile on Gibbs' face didn't vanish, but it morphed into something almost sad. Nodding, Gibbs took the remains of the soup from Tony. "Why don't you try to sleep again? The doctor said what you needed most was rest."

Tony, all out of words, returned the nod.

Once Gibbs had left the room, it took Tony a long time to fall asleep.

* * *

Tony had no idea what time it was when he woke up again, but he could tell it was late. The world felt different in the middle of the night. It wasn't something he could explain, it was just something he knew. Lying still, he listened to the sounds surrounding him. He could hear the furnace, as it worked to push warm air throughout the house. If he strained, he heard a soft puffing noise, and he imagined that it was Gibbs, quietly snoring in his own bed. He wished it was summer, so that he could hear crickets and cicadas singing from the yard below. Maybe they would have been able to lull him back into sleep. Unfortunately, Tony was wide awake. He'd slept most of the day asleep, and now, when he should be sleeping, he couldn't. He lay there, willing himself back into slumber, to no avail. The minutes ticked by. Occasionally he'd hear the whoosh of a car, as some night owl was returning home. His eyes had adjusted to the dark by then, and he tried counting bumps on the popcorn ceiling over his head, hoping monotony would get the better of him.

He'd just about given up, and was getting ready to climb out of bed and wander downstairs when he heard a moan. Tony held his breath. Then he heard the moan again. It had gotten a little louder this time. Being careful not to jar his left shoulder and arm, Tony sat up and slid the covers back. The moan became an anguished groan which was followed by muffled words. Tony swung his legs out of the bed and stood up. Walking as quietly as he could, Tony went to stand by the door. The sounds were coming from the master bedroom. Padding on bare feet, Tony crept down the hallway, the sounds getting louder as he progressed. The door to Gibbs' bedroom was open, and unable to help himself, Tony peered in. Gibbs lay on his bed, fully dressed, atop the blankets. He was sound asleep, and clearly in the midst of a bad dream. Gibbs was tossing and turning as he moaned, and Tony could hear him say, "No, no, please God, no."

Tony didn't know what to do. He felt like a voyeur, as though he were seeing something he shouldn't, and he was just about to turn around and head back to his own room when Gibbs said, "Tony, Tony, talk to me." He froze. Gibbs made a sound that was suspiciously like a sob, and then he moaned again and said, "Tony, God, Tony, stay with me. Please don't die."

Tony couldn't help himself. He stepped into the room and hurried to the bed. "Gibbs, it's okay. Shush, don't worry, I'm fine," he said, reaching out to lightly touch Gibbs' arm.

Gibbs' other hand flew up and latched onto Tony's forearm. "Tony?" he asked. Tony wasn't sure if he was awake or not, and his head was turned away so Tony couldn't see his face. "Tony?" Gibbs asked again.

"It's me. Everything's okay," Tony tried to reassure him again, and he leaned closer to see if Gibbs' eyes were open.

Gibbs let go of Tony's arm, but before Tony could sit back up, Gibbs grabbed Tony's good shoulder and pulled him down to him, wrapping his arm around Tony in an embrace. Tony tried to wriggle out of Gibbs' grasp, but the older man held him securely. Gibbs began to make quiet little moans again, and Tony realized he was still trapped in the middle of the nightmare. With nothing else to do with his right arm, Tony reached up and wrapped his hand around Gibbs' bicep.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, come on, wake up," Tony said softly.

"No, no, no," Gibbs moaned again. Tony's face was pressed against his chest, and he could hear Gibbs' heart beating wildly.

"Boss, wake up. Everything's fine," Tony tried again, this time a little louder. When Gibbs seemed to still, he repeated himself. "Everything's fine. Wake up."

Tony felt Gibbs' head move. Tilting his chin up, he could see Gibbs looking down at him, his eyes partially open. "Tony?" Gibbs said, his voice groggy and his gaze blurry. "I thought you were dead."

Clearly he wasn't totally awake yet, Tony realized. "I'm right here, alive and well,' he assured Gibbs. Gibbs blinked at him, trying to sort out reality from dream. "See, it was just a dream," Tony said softly.

Gibbs gaze began to clear, and Tony could tell he was more awake. Tony let go of his bicep, expecting Gibbs to snatch his arm away at any second – but he didn't. Instead, he held on to Tony and continued to stare down at him, their faces inches apart. Tony knew he should move, but he couldn't. He was mesmerized. He'd imagined what it would be like to be locked in Gibbs' embrace, and now that he was, he just couldn't bear to see it end. Then suddenly, without warning, Gibbs leaned slightly forward and kissed Tony.

The kiss was tentative at first, but when Tony returned it, he deepened the connection. It was so much more than Tony had ever imagined. Maybe it wasn't the most skilled kiss he'd ever experienced, there was not attempt at finesse, but that didn't matter. It didn't need to be. The kiss was filled with all the things they'd never said to each other, and Tony poured all of his longing into his response. When he parted his lips slightly, Gibbs slid his tongue into Tony's mouth, the tip of his tongue searching for the tip of Tony's. It was electric. Then his tongue began to gently brush from side to side over Tony's tongue, lightly tickling the inside of his mouth, taking the lead, sending shivers down Tony's spine. When his tongue began its own exploration, Gibbs let go of his shoulder, and brought both his hands up and gently cupped Tony's face. As their tongues danced slowly together, Tony felt his body begin to heat up. One of Gibbs' hand slid up and into his hair, pulling his face in just a bit more, deepening the contact between their mouths. Tony groaned into the seemingly endless kiss, fighting the urge to rub his body all over Gibbs'. Finally Gibbs began to gentle the contact, retracting his tongue slowly, and pulling back enough to allow him to lay small, light kisses all along Tony's mouth, cheeks, nose, and finally his closed eyelids.

"I thought you were dead," Gibbs whispered.

"It was just a dream," Tony murmured.

"No," Gibbs said. "When I got to the alley. When they were lifting you into the ambulance. You were covered in blood – your head, your chest – I couldn't tell where you'd been hit. I thought you were dead," he repeated more urgently.

"But I wasn't. It's all good," Tony tried to comfort him.

"I thought you were dead, and I'd lost my chance. That you'd never know."

"Know what?" Tony asked softly.

"This," Gibbs said, and captured Tony's mouth again with his own. Then, very carefully, Gibbs reached up, wrapped his hand around Tony's back, and turned them over, all the while supporting Tony so that his wounded shoulder didn't get twisted. Once Tony was lying on his back, Gibbs covered his body with his own and began the kiss again.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, never saying anything more. Finally Gibbs kissed Tony one last time and rolled gently away. He then reached down and began to ease the covers out from under them. Once he had the bed dressings free, he lifted them up over Tony's body and slid in beside him. When he was settled he pulled Tony closer, and wrapped an arm around Tony's hip, holding him snuggly.

This was perfect, Tony thought. It was better than anything he'd ever fantasized about. They still hadn't really talked, there'd been no big, soul baring conversation, and most likely never would be, but that didn't matter. They understood each other, and that was what mattered. They could figure out the rest of it as they went along.

Tilting his head until he could see Gibbs' face, he found the older man looking at him, with that half smile that Tony loved. Tipping his head up until he could reach Gibbs' face, he kissed the underside of his chin.

Before he could say anything, Gibbs smiled down at him and murmured softly, "Thank you, Tony."

You're welcome," Tony answered, in an equally soft voice. Then Tony closed his eyes, knowing he could sleep again.


End file.
